Where It Wasn't Supposed to Be
by alxxiis
Summary: Anya is taken in by a former Thieves Guild member, Ophira. After Ophira is killed, Anya accepts an invitation to the Thieves Guild. Her and Brynjolf work to restore the guild to its former glory, and they uncover an unexpected connection to Ophira and a series of secrets that led to the guild's suffering. (Anya is not the LDB, tagged as such for convenience.)
1. Counting Coin

"I won't ask where these came from," Talen-Jei said, taking the small satchel from Anya. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Money is enough," Anya said.

She held out her hand expectantly.

"Of course," the Argonian replied.

He pulled a heavy coin purse from his belt and handed it to her, a bittersweet smile on his face. She pulled the strings open and began pushing around the gold coins, gauging an approximate count before Talen-Jei could leave her sight. She'd had patrons try to stiff her before; it never turned out well for them.

"Why don't I make you a White-Gold Tower?" he offered. "On the house, as an added 'thanks.'"

"Sure," she said. She was never one to turn down a drink.

Anya sat down at an empty table while Talen-Jei headed behind the bar. She poured the coins onto the table, the jangling metal accompanying the heavy conversing and clinking of glass bottles that filled the inn.

A man approached her, but she didn't look up from the counting of her gold.

"Not looking for company," she said.

"You're looking to get robbed, lass," a deep, heavily-accented voice said.

"Is that a threat?" she asked in a monotone, as if the thought bored her.

"A warning," the man said. "But that coin wasn't earned through any legal means. Am I right?"

"Nothing illegal about being hired to find a few things," she countered.

"Unless those things were stolen," he replied.

Talen-Jei returned with a large flagon, brimming with a creamy, sweet-smelling drink. He looked between Anya and the man before placing the mug in front of Anya.

"Are you ordering something, Brynjolf?" he asked the man.

"No, no," he said. "I'm simply chatting."

Talen-Jei hummed and turned away, leaning slightly toward Anya.

"You'd do well to ignore anything he says," Talen-Jei whispered before walked away.

Anya grabbed her drink and took a long swig, raising a brow in surprise: it was better than she'd anticipated.

"Do you mind if I sit, lass?"

"Only if you buy me another one of these," she said, lifting her drink to the man.

He chuckled and pulled out the chair opposite her before sitting. She looked at him properly, noting the deep red hair and just-as-deep green eyes. He met her gaze and took one of her coins, flipping it back and forth across his knuckles.

"As I was saying," he began, "it isn't safe to walk around with all that coin, especially when you leave it out for all to see. Not to mention, your reputation places a target on your back."

"I wasn't aware I had one," she said, her eyes following the gold in his hand as she downed more of her drink.

"You do among my associates," he explained. "They speak of the icy woman who lifted the ruby-lined circlet from the Jarl of Whiterun."

"And you think I'm her?"

"I've been watching you for some time now," he continued. "I have eyes and ears throughout the underground. I know you're her. I'm part of a little outfit that could help you in exchange for your skill."

She looked at him through hooded eyes with her head slightly tilted, a look that exuded apathy.

"I don't need any help," Anya said before finishing her drink.

"Ophira thought the same."

Anya's right hand shot under the table, grabbing the knife from her belt and aiming it at his inner thigh, her aloofness replaced by molten anger.

"I swear to the gods, I'll slice off your dick," she hissed.

Brynjolf dropped her coin and lifted his hands just above the table, attempting to appear nonthreatening, but the smirk on his face made her press the blade against his pants.

"I'm not threatening you," he insisted. "I'm merely stating that whoever killed her is still out there, and it's no secret Ophira had a progeny."

She narrowed her cold eyes at him and angled the knife so the sharp tip pushed against his groin. His leg instinctively twitched away, but she pressed further.

"If you know something..."

"I don't," he promised. "Not about who killed Ophira. But if you join us, lass, perhaps we can help each other."

They remained still for a time; Anya's gaze bounced to each of his eyes, searching for any hint of malicious intent. She saw a con man, an opportunist, but also someone with the faintest hint of empathy.

"Is everything all right here?" Talen-Jei asked.

Anya hadn't noticed him approach, but she hid her surprise and smiled at the Argonian.

"Everything's fine," she said. "In fact, he was just about to order me another drink. Another White-Gold Tower."

Talen-Jei looked between the two before looking down at the table, as if trying to see through it. After a moment of no one speaking, he nodded at Anya and returned to the bar.

Anya looked back at Brynjolf and pulled the knife away. Her eyes remained hard, guarded, but she returned the knife to her belt and smiled at him.

"Thieves Guild, right?" she asked.

It wasn't hard to guess his 'little outfit.' The guild was well-known, even outside her line of work, and Ophira had mentioned it more than once.

"Sharp as a whip, lass."

"Save the flattery," she said. "What help could you offer, and what help are you expecting?"

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms on the table, evidently much more comfortable without a knife near his crotch.

"As I said," he began, "eyes and ears everywhere. We could help you find Ophira's killer if you agree to work for the guild. Your skills would be quite the prize."

"I can navigate the underground on my own," she said.

"I have no doubt," he said. "But you can't be in every seedy area at the same time. If you join us, you'll have access to the guild's resources."

Talen-Jei returned and placed the mug in front of Anya; without a word, he walked away to resume his inn duties. Anya glanced at Talen-Jei as she reached for her drink and returned her attention to Brynjolf.

Taking a swig, she pondered Brynjolf's offer. He was right: she couldn't be everywhere at once, and the leads on Ophira's killer weren't leading to anything substantial. And if Anya were to become a target, having a guild behind her...

"How much of my earnings would I have to give up to the guild coffers?" she asked.

He smirked. "We can speak numbers in the Ragged Flagon. But I promise, with the number of jobs we could offer you, you'd be making more than if you continued on your own."

Anya leaned back in her chair and crossed one knee over her other. Ophira had warned her away from the Thieves Guild, but Ophira was gone, Anya was alone.

She sighed. "All right. Where's the Ragged Flagon?"


	2. Shakedown

The door opened with an obnoxious creak; a warning for what to expect for a guild that made its home under the city. Anya curled her lip in disgust as she walked the stone path toward the tavern, glancing at the off-colored water in the center. The dome-shaped room smelled like an abandoned dock, musty and stagnant.

Voices echoed from the only part that was lit; a group of people sat at the bar or tables, drinking and eating and chatting, and in the center was a spark of red hair.

"That her?" a woman's voice said.

The red-head turned and gave Anya a wide grin. He was clad in dark armor, rather than the nice but simple clothing he wore yesterday at the inn. It looked far more fitting for his demeanor.

"Aye," he said. "That's her."

Anya approached the group, eyeing each of them: rough and bitter seemed to be the guild uniform. The only one who appeared eager at the sight of a new face was Brynjolf.

"Wasn't sure I had the right place," Anya remarked, looking away from Brynjolf and out at the water.

"We've run into a rough patch lately," Brynjolf admitted. "It's why I sought new blood for the outfit, and I have a feeling, you're exactly what we need."

"Laying it on thick with the flattery...again," Anya said, crossing her arms over her chest.

She gave everyone another once over: gray, beaten, lackluster. Quite the rough patch, Anya thought.

"So," Anya began, "what do you need me to do?"

Brynjolf put a hand on Anya's shoulder and walked her back to the pathway leading out of the tavern. They stopped near the faded, wooden sign that read "Ragged Flagon." Brynjolf leaned against the stone wall and rubbed the scruff on his jaw.

"We need a few deadbeats handled," Brynjolf said. "They owe our organization some serious coin, and they've decided not to pay."

"If I have this stellar reputation, as you've said," Anya said, "why are you sending me on a job for peon?"

"Our guildmaster doesn't trust reputation alone," he explained. "Do this right, and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization."

"I wasn't expecting to have to go through some initiation task," she replied, rolling her eyes. "How do you want me to handle it? Rough them up? Break in and take the coin myself?"

"Honestly, the coin is secondary," Brynjolf said. "What's more important is that you get the message across that we aren't to be ignored."

"What are they paying for anyway?" she asked. "Stolen goods? Some bribe?"

"Protection," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "They pay us to keep from being robbed or hassled, whether by our own people or rogue thieves."

"Why'd they stop paying?"

"You ask a lot of questions, lass," he remarked, crossing his arms.

"You've asked me to join a guild that's 'hit a rough patch,'" she explained. "I think it's more than fair that I find out what exactly I'm getting into."

The pair stood mirroring each other's stance, watching, waiting for the other to concede. After several silent moments, Brynjolf sighed.

"Keep it to yourself," he said in a hushed tone. "Word has spread that the guild is becoming weak. A few of the shop owners think they can get away with brushing us off, and we need to put a stop to that as soon as possible."

"All right," she said. "I'll take care of it. Who am I hitting?"

"Keerava, the Bee and Bard innkeeper. The Pawned Prawn owner, Bersi Honey-Hand. And the Bunkhouse owner, Haelga."

"Consider it done."

"A word of warning, though," Brynjolf said. "I've heard you don't mind getting your hands bloody, but I don't want any of them killed. Bad for business."

"I wasn't planning on it," she said.

"Just making sure, lass," he said, giving her a smirk. "Each of the marks has a soft spot you can exploit, so you won't need to hold a knife to their crotch."

"Hmm, shame," Anya replied. "It makes for more interesting conversations."

"Got a message from Brynjolf," Anya told the blonde Nord.

Haelga leaned against her counter and scowled. "What does he want now? I already explained to him that you can't get blood from a stone."

"Well," Anya began, dragging her fingers across the counter's edge, "this isn't really about the money anymore. Don't get me wrong, we still want the money-"

"I can't make the coin appear out of thin air," Haelga pleaded. "Please, be reasonable. I'll... I'll pay next month."

Anya clicked her tongue and adjusted her mask. "That doesn't really work for us. If we let you skip a month, the others will want to skip a month, and it'll be this whole ordeal."

Haelga straightened and glared at Anya. "What the point of paying anyway?" she spat. "Your outfit can't even fend for itself! I could do better tossing the gold into the sewer."

Anya raised a brow and smirked, though her lips were hidden. She wandered the length of the counter, glancing around and smiling when she caught sight of the statue.

"You can't scare me with your tough talk," Haelga continued, her voice wavering a touch. "I'm not paying you people a single coin."

"You can dump that coin in the sewer," Anya said, moving to the table that held the statue. She ran her fingertip across the face. "Maybe I can dump her in there with it."

"Please!" Haelga said. "Don't take the statue. It's the only thing of value I have left!"

"Put the coin where it belongs, and she can stay where she belongs."

"Fine," Haelga huffed.

She rifled through something under the counter and placed a stack of coins on the counter.

"Here," she said. "Take your gold. I hope you choke on it."

Anya grabbed the stack and poured it into her satchel; she smiled at Haelga, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"May Dibella hold you," Anya said as she left.

She headed for the Pawned Prawn next.

"You're gouging me for what little coin I make," Bersi said, "and you can't even protect yourselves? Ridiculous!"

Anya rested her back against the counter, eyeing the Dwarven urn. It was as ugly as Brynjolf said.

"It's only a matter of time before you people are run out of Riften," Bersi added, apparently uncomfortable with Anya's silence.

"I'm not too worried about that," Anya replied, pulling her dagger from her belt. She held it out, waving it so Bersi could see.

"You're not going to kill me," he said. "That's not the guild's style. Neither is torture."

"This isn't for you," she said. "I was just looking at the carvings on your urn. I think it could do with a few more."

Anya pushed off the counter and placed her blade on the ceramic.

"Wait!" Bersi said. "I can't pay! I can't!"

With a quick flick of her wrist, her dagger scraped across the urn and left a deep scratch.

"Please, stop!"

"You know," Anya taunted, "I always wanted to try my hand at pottery."

She cut into the urn again, deeper this time.

"That urn is priceless!" he whined.

Anya hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head. Her dagger dug into the urn again, connecting the two previous cuts. She brushed away the loose particles and admired her work.

"Stop! I get it!" Bersi said. "I'll pay on time from now on. Just leave the urn alone!"

"Fine," Anya said. "But I think it's an improvement."

The last mark was Keerava, the innkeeper. A quick mention of her family in Morrowind, graciously divulged by Talen-Jei, had her practically throwing the coin at Anya. Quick and easy and boring, Anya thought. She never bothered with extortion when working with Ophira; nabbing things herself was far more invigorating.

Anya quietly groaned as she approached the door.

"I told you to stay away from him," Talen-Jei said behind her, still holding his broom.

She stopped, her hand on the door handle.

"What gave me away?" Anya asked, turning around. She instinctively pulled on her hood, though it was firmly in place, covering her stark white hair.

He continued sweeping as he spoke. "It's hard to mistake the identity of someone who has helped me," he explained. "You're throwing your life away by joining that lot."

Anya scoffed and smiled "My hands are already dirty," she remarked, wiggling her fingers for emphasis.


	3. Welcome

The harsh jangle of a coin purse landing on the wooden table made Anya smile after she dropped it in front of Brynjolf; it was a satisfying sound, even if it wasn't money she was keeping for herself.

"Well, well," Brynjolf began, looking up at Anya, "color me impressed, lass."

She pulled her mask down from her face and let her hood fall back as she took the seat across from Brynjolf. Kicking one leg over the other, she leaned back in her chair and watched Brynjolf dump the coin purse.

"Did you think I'd take the money and run?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Of course not," he said, though his tone didn't quite match his words.

He waved to the bar before starting to count out the coin, and after a few moments, the barkeep, Vekel, came over with a drink in hand.

"Here, Bryn," Vekel said. He placed it in front of Brynjolf before turning back around.

Anya watched him return to the bar; he certainly was more attractive than his the other men in the Flagon, save for Brynjolf, but being the face of the guild, that was expected. She looked back at Brynjolf and the coin in front of him; he'd quickly stacked them in several columns and was grinning.

"It's all here," he said, genuinely impressed.

He reached for his cup, but Anya snatched the drink from Brynjolf. She held it to her mouth, pausing when the scent reached her nose; whatever Vekel gave him smelled sour yet sickly sweet. With a slight grimace, she took a swig, surprised that it didn't taste as strange as it smelled… though it was far from good.

"I'm a bit insulted you'd think otherwise," she remarked with a smirk, tilting her head slightly. "First you think I'd skip town, then you think I'd swipe off the stack?" She clicked her tongue a few times. "No trust."

Leaning forward, she put the drink back in front of him and rested her upper body on her elbows. Brynjolf mirrored her smirk and took back his drink, something bouncing in the green of his eyes, something she couldn't place.

"So, Bryn," Anya began, "am I done being tested?"

Brynjolf smiled. "No violence, no bloodshed," he said. "I'd say you've done more than proven yourself."

"You had me watched."

"Aye," he admitted. "I needed an honest recount of how you handled the shopkeepers."

"You could've asked," Anya said. "I can be honest."

He raised an eyebrow before taking a drink of the off-flavored swill, keeping his gaze on her.

"Regardless of my believing that," he said, "we need people like you in our outfit. And, before I forget…"

He took half the coins from one of the stacks and held them out to Anya. She grabbed them greedily.

"I think you'll fit in just fine around here," he said with a chuckle.

"Just keep in mind why I'm here," Anya reminded him. "I don't plan on making friends. I just need the guild's reach."

He pursed his lips slightly and shrugged. "Either way, you'll be more than useful."

"I'm nothing if not useful," she remarked, reaching out again to take the cup from his hand.

Brynjolf handed it to her, chuckling. "Just take the rest," he said, standing from his chair.

She downed the rest in a single gulp and stood with him, leaving the cup on the table.

"Come on," he said with a short wave. "I'll show you what we're all about."

Brynjolf led her to a nook past the bar; he stopped at the cabinet set in the stone arch and gave her a smug smile. He opened the doors, revealing an empty closet. Giving the back pane a push, it popped out of the place, and he slid it into a gap in the stone wall.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I grew up in an old castle," she remarked, shrugging. "There were hidden passages everywhere."

He chuckled. "You're hard to impress, lass."

"I've been around a while," she replied.

She ignored his questioning look and walked passed him into the hidden hallway, brushing against him in the tight space. The hall veered to the left and led to a plain-looking door; she could hear water and voices from behind the rotting wood. Without waiting for permission, Anya opened the door and stepped into another large, dome-shaped room.

People were spread throughout, practicing their archery, chatting, sharpening weapons. In the center was a stone platform, and next to one of the branching walkways was an authoritative desk with an equally authoritative man leaning over it. At the sound of Brynjolf closing the door behind them, the man at the desk looked up and walked toward the platform. She followed alongside Brynjolf as he did the same.

"Mercer," Brynjolf greeted. "This is Anya. Anya, Mercer."

Anya looked Mercer up and down, immediately put off by the scowl that, judging by the harsh lines in his face, was permanent. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking entirely unimpressed.

"This better not be another waste of the guild's resources, Brynjolf," Mercer spat.

"She won't be," he promised. "She was trained by Ophira."

At the mention of Ophira, Mercer stiffened, and an even deeper frown crossed his face, and though it left as quickly as it came, Anya took notice.

"Well, you certainly have a lot to live up to," Mercer remarked. "She might've abandoned the guild, but she was one of the best. I'll expect nothing less than what she gave."

Mirroring his stance, Anya smirked and said, "I'll try my very best."

Her sarcastic tone made Mercer's glower deepen.

"Then I think we'll put your very best to the test," he said.

"Wait a moment," Brynjolf said. "You're not talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn't get in."

"You claim she'd been trained by Ophira," Mercer replied with a flip of his hand. "Let's see how well the lessons stuck."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she said, smirking at Mercer. "What's Goldenglow?"

"Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients," Mercer explained. "However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson."

He turned to leave, saying with his back to them, "Brynjolf will provide you with the details."

"Mercer," Brynjolf said, "aren't you forgetting something?"

Mercer stopped. "Right," he said looking over his shoulder. "Welcome to the Thieves Guild."

As he returned to his desk, Anya and Brynjolf remained in the center of the cistern. Anya kept her eyes on Mercer, watching as he shuffled through the papers on his desk, a bit of frantic energy filling his movements.

Brynjolf placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her attention to him.

"Welcome to the family, lass," he said. "I'm expecting you to make us a lot of coin, so don't disappoint me."

"Oh, don't start this out on such a dim note," she said. "How about you buy me a drink and tell me about this job?"

He chuckled and headed back toward the Ragged Flagon.

They returned to the table they were at earlier, and Brynjolf made sure Anya had her own drink this time. The others in the tavern talked among themselves, though conversation quieted considerably when Brynjolf began speaking about Goldenglow.

"It's a bee farm," he explained. "They raise the wretched little things for honey. It's owned by some smart-mouthed wood elf named Aringoth. We need you to teach him a lesson by burning down three of the estate's hives and clearing out the safe in the main house."

"So what makes this so difficult?" she asked.

"You can't burn the whole place to the ground," he said. "Our client would be furious if you did."

"Who's the client?"

"Maven Black-Briar."

Anya curled her lip. "Great."

Maven had been a major player in the underground for most of Anya's criminal career, and she was never pleasant to work with. Figures, she thought. She shouldn't have been surprised to learn Maven had her thumb pressed on the guild.

"How do you want Aringoth handled?" she asked. "Beaten? Killed? Embarrassed?"

"Embarrassed?"

"Left stranded in the middle of Riften in nothing but his small clothes," she suggested. "Secret affairs exposed. Secret affair fabricated. The possibilities are endless."

He rolled his eyes. "You don't have to do anything to Aringoth, lass. Just burn those hives and clean out the safe."

"Fine, fine," she said, waving her hand.

"But if he gets in your way," Brynjolf began, his tone suddenly far more serious than before, "kill him."

"My, my," she said. "I thought the guild kept their blades clean."

"We have more important things riding on this than the life of a bastard beekeeper."


End file.
